


Sherlock: Woman Redeemed

by MusingsOfOphelia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 21,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingsOfOphelia/pseuds/MusingsOfOphelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's death a new time begins. If you've read my work Woman Tainted then you know John and Arabella left London to the small town of Bibury Gloucestershire to assume the position of physician and for Arabella to find herself. I will probably do a bit of time lapsing to cover the two years before John and Arabella see London again.<br/>I hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave some feedback! If you're new to my work please read Woman Tainted to get you up to speed so far!<br/>Thank you for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John was getting irritable again, and Arabella had no idea why as usual. This had happened a bit frequently over the last few months and she could not for the life of her figure out what had gotten into him. He'd snap at her over a patient's chart, or toss things on her desk as if he couldn't be bothered to give a damn. She couldn't really be too angry with him, so childishly she'd give him the finger to his back and roll her eyes. For a couple of months they had been residing in Bibury, a small apartment above the dated little community clinic. The last physician had passed at nearly ninety years old, leaving the position available and nearly unable to be filled. John had taken it after Sherlock's death and Arabella came with him, happily accepting the position of nurse and clerk, filing paperwork and managing the charts. It wasn't difficult and with all of her training, where she lacked the credentials on paper, she was organized and had strong field practice with common procedures performed by nurses. So she and John made passionate love on every surface in the office their first week and the upstairs apartment meanwhile, working together like clockwork once they settled in and reopened the clinic. Not that they saw anything all that exciting in such a small and close knit community, nothing out of the ordinary or dangerous, just the occasional common cold, the McEachern boy breaking his arm, or the elderly residents who simply faked sick to have an excuse to leave the house and talk to someone.

As John went upstairs to take lunch, Arabella organized her small working area and really thought about what could possibly be wrong. Sure he was still grieving, she was too but no, this was different than his sadness. This was so very much more. It occurred to her then that when John had served his country, everyday had been a torrent of life and death, explosions and gunfire, danger and adrenaline. None of that changed when he decided to move in and become flat mate to one Sherlock Holmes. Then, she had been tossed into their lives, quite brutally and brought more danger. People were shot, particularly Arabella herself, and not to mention the over hanging threats and cases uprising as the more famous Sherlock and John became in the media. Suddenly, it was all perfectly clear. And almost instantly she began formulating her plan.

John ran his fingers across his forehead and descended the back stairs to enter the reception area of the clinic to find the place entirely empty. It was normal this time on a Monday for the place to be devoid of patients, but his very attractive nurse and receptionist was nowhere to be seen.

"Ara? Darling?" he called, only to find no response. He crossed the room to her small desk with the shelves of files behind it. Sitting on her keyboard was a note, "Meet me in the field as soon as you can." in her neat cursive handwriting. God, did he love her handwriting. Well, he loved everything about her, and was such a sodding fool for her he was standing there staring at her handwriting on paper. Knowing it was best to never keep a lady waiting he grabbed his coat and left through the front door. Of course he knew exactly where to go, behind their little cottage was a wide, open field full of tall green grass and wild flowers. He would never forget the look on Arabella's face, or the way the wind had whipped through her long blond curls as she flung her arms out and spun in the field, like she was breathing for the first time. He realized then she had turned his nearly every thought to poetic nonsense.

Once out in the field he looked around and didn't see his beloved woman anywhere and was suddenly quite disappointed. Why the bloody hell would she leave such a silly note only to have him walk all the way out here for nothing at all? Not that the view wasn't beautiful, tall green grass, tree lined forests surrounding a big lake. It was lovely. In that second, a sharp sting snapped across John's calve and when he looked at the back of his khakis he found a big, bright red spot smattering the material. And it still stung. In another instant something stung into his opposite back calve causing him to yell very loudly and turn the opposite way to avoid further onslaught.

"Oy!" he shouted.

"You better run before I send one into that cute arse of yours!" her sweet melodic voice shouted and when he looked more closely he found Arabella was crawling from the wild flowers in her navy scrubs with a paintball gun in her hand. He put his hands on his hips, looked down and shook his head laughing.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he asked, shouting over the distance.

"Having a bit of fun." she giggled happily, the wind blowing her long and lovely blonde curls about, her sapphire eyes sparkling with her mischief.

"So you just going to attack an unarmed man?" he asked incredulously, holding his hands up in surrender.

Ara shouldered her rather large paintball gun and said, "Of course not. Yours is across the field. I'll give you a ten second head start before I fire again." He simply stood there a moment in awe and a bit baffled but, then she sent another paint filled bullet flying towards him so he took off in the opposite direction. She chased him, laughing and sending gobs of paint at his heels the whole time. When John finally got his weapon he repaid the favor to her, green and yellow spots splattered all across her scrubs. He of course, could not resist sending one to strike her plump left arse cheek and delighting at the jump and squeal it rendered in its payback. The rest of the day they chased one another across the country side in their epic paintball fight, no one around for miles as they laughed and ran, until at last they were winded and devoid of bullets.

Sitting on a soft spot in the grass, Ara leaning her back against his chest between his parted knees, he kissed her head and smiled down at the remarkable woman.

"So what was all that about, then? Punishment for me snapping on you?" he asked her, his lips close to her ear and his arm across her stomach. She snorted adorably.

"Of course not. You're bored, John. Pretend all you like to be an utterly normal physician and man but that life or death, fight or flight conundrum? You miss that, love. " she said. He could not help but smile as he realized how exactly right she was. He missed it, the blood, the death and the running. And while she was, of course, limited in her resources, she had made a way to remind him. She was simply trying to give him a taste of their old life. He shook his head smiling, again amazed at this perfect woman he had found eighteen months ago. This woman who had gone from the soiled angel to his saving grace. Even away from her old life, all her fancy clothes and money and technology, she was still herself, and he learned quickly those material items did not define her. She was an incredibly good soul, sexy even, although, only for he himself these days. He definitely was a happy and contented man despite the loss of his other half. Nearly a year since he had admitted to her and himself he was madly in love with her, he was still falling in love with her more and more everyday. There was nothing she would not do for him, and vice versa.


	2. Chapter 2

"That one in particular hurts." Arabella said pointing to a bruise on her bum cheek from the bathroom door.

“It was self-defense. Need I remind you, you were attacking an unarmed man in the middle of a field? Hardly fair.” He said crossing his arms behind his head on their bed as she slid her pale teal satin nightgown on and splashed a bit of water on her face. She turned out the light and leaned her round hip against the door frame, a seductive sideways smirk on her face. Her eyes were darkened with seduction as she crossed the room to her side of the bed and stretched out on her belly beside him, looking the opposite direction.

She brushed her toes against his leg and he groaned, “So you’re just going to lay there looking all sexy and lovely to torture me?” he asked. A coy smile tugged at her lips but she remained turned away from him, playing at petulance. Slowly she felt the bed dip as he changed his position beside her and then the satin gown was gliding up her thighs. She felt one of his hands near her hip that was facing the opposite of him, and then his breath was warmly dancing against her skin. Tenderly, he placed a kiss to the spot in question, noting the little bruise was already fading and watched as her pouty lips were replaced by her delicious grin.

“Better, love?” he asked. She turned onto her back and he was leaning over her, sliding up so he could brush his nose against her neck, his weight braced on his palms on either side of her head.

“I’m actually hurting all over.” She said with her adorable lips in a pout and he laughed, kissing his way across her cheeks, lingering on her soft lips. He kissed her neck, pulling the shell of her ear delicately with his teeth and eliciting a lovely groan from her throat. He worked his way all over her body, sliding the straps of her night gown down and then completely from her soft skin. He was nearly always in a state of arousal when she was around, particularly in the clinic when he thought of all the times he had shagged her on the desk, the examination table, the stockroom, and quite intricately the staircase leading to the flat above stairs. His Arabella did love to play doctor, and while the sex was fun and incredible, it was romantic. She gave herself to him fully, tethering him to his old life while helping him to build a new one.

Nearly an hour later she was curled against him, panting and her skin dewed with perspiration. Her blonde hair lay tossed across his chest and he was out of breath himself. While they led rather calm and ordinary lives, she made sure in the bedroom it was anything but. Theoretically speaking since almost every surface in the cottage had been christened.

“That was… amazing.” He said out of breath, his hand tossed across her back and caressing the sheet over her lower back.

“Yes. I really am quite good. Perhaps I could make a profession of it.” She said, and he immediately turned and gave her his cross look.

“Too soon?” she asked wryly and in an instant his anger dissipated. Her smile melted him every time, and since she had entered their, his life, she did it more and more. For a moment they were both silent, listening to the other breathing and deep in pensive thoughts.

“I miss him too, John. Everyday.” She whispered, looking up from his chest and into his lovely eyes. Sadness crossed his face and watched the ice shield his feelings, knowing he was trying so hard to be strong.

“I asked him, for just one more miracle. For me.” He whispered hoarsely.

“To not be dead.” She said quietly, and felt him nod in response. He was quiet a long moment, and she did not say anything, gathering his words and thoughts. He knew it would help, to speak about it, about that day. The words were just so easy to choke on, they lodged themselves in his throat and he could still feel the warmth in his wrist where the pulse was missing. He remembers begging him to stop and hoping he would not fall, but he did. And as soon as he saw him up there in the deep dark part of his cranium he knew that phone call would only end one way. As calmly as he could, he began to speak again.

Arabella held his hand in hers, palm up and her fingers tracing the lines so he would not feel so vulnerable if she was watching his face. As he spoke, he revealed the way Sherlock had tried to convince him that all of his cases were staged, that he had searched John on the internet the first day they met. He called himself a fraud, told him that no one could be that clever. His note, that’s what he called their final farewell, and pleadingly he asked John to look at him and keep his eyes on him. He could not deny him that last request, and he didn’t. He stood there watching as he fell to his death, his hair soaking with blood, the icy blue eyes open and unseeing.

John had opened himself up and was sobbing by the end of the story, and Arabella was too. She wasn’t there and couldn’t imagine, and for the last months he would not tell her about it. The words would start, but his voice would cut suddenly. As if he could not let himself go, could not explain the pain of that day and all she knew was that he watched as his life ended. He swiped at his eyes and cheeks and then looked down at her smiling. He ran his hand down her hair.

“You’d make a pretty decent therapist. You know that?” he said to her with a sad smile.

“I’m just happy to help, and be here for you.” She said leaning up on his chest and touching his cheek.

“I love you Arabella Lockley.” John said before she leaned in and kissed him tenderly, just the right amount of pressure of her lips against his.

“I love you too, John Hamish Watson.” She said, grinning and laughing.

“That’s my payback isn’t it?” he asked, his head sinking into the pillow in frustration. She smiled and nodded eagerly.


	3. Chapter 3

After that night, something changed between John and Ara, just when he thought they could not become any closer, they did. He had closed off a detrimental part of himself, of his love for Sherlock and exposing that to the love of his life had truly helped him heal. He was so grateful for her, for her laughter and kisses, her touches and looks across the room. He delighted in the way she still blushed when she caught him staring at her, sometimes mesmerized simply by a pen precariously clutched between her teeth when she was thinking. His eyes would turn soft and a small sideways grin would touch his lips. He was a sodding fool for that woman finding solace in the fact that she felt the exact same way.

Across London a man sat in his study putting the agency back together and closing accounts. On his desk by his arm was a glass of Macallan single malt, the decanter nearly empty at the bar. Mycroft felt as if something were missing and it wasn’t hard to identify the what, or better yet whom. He understood now it was his love for Babe that had caused him to let her go so easily, without using his power to maliciously make she and John’s life a living hell. Feeling anything at all was quite alien to his true nature, feeling pain and jealousy were even odder, but he had acknowledged the feelings and taken them without reprieve. Best to mourn now when he was completely isolated than to give any other human the thought he might be a mortal man. He loved her enough to let her go and he hoped she knew how monumental his love was to do that. If he was totally honest he partly did this for John, he owed him after what he had done to his little brother, selling him out to his arch nemesis. He drained the glass and crossed the room as the final plans were made to transform the town house on Mayfair to a girl’s home.

Two years had come and gone, John leading his quiet life at the clinic. On weekends he and Arabella went hiking and in the summer months picnicked in the field behind their cottage, basking in the sunshine and drinking wine. Despite all they had been through, he found himself smiling at the thought of the quiet life they had found. Arabella still was ever sharp with the skills she had learned from the Crown, using her intelligence in different ways. Nightmares of her former life began to fade, much to her relief and all thanks to John, holding her through the night and giving her more love and tenderness than she knew a man to be capable of.

Their second Christmas in Bibury brought snow in heavy clouds across the entire town, the glowing street lamps barely visible in the clouds of snow. John and Arabella spent the evening in the warmth of their sitting room, sipping nog and warming themselves by the fire. When the flames became too hot in the small space, Ara stripped him down and he shagged her right there on the rug. Kissing her tenderly they made their way to the bedroom and fell into a deep restful sleep. Arabella could not wait to give John his gifts, particularly the new pistol she had special ordered him. With his arms clutching her close, breathing in the scent of his chest they were sleeping soundly.

Suddenly there was loud banging on the door, the glass rattling in the frame that held the clinic sign. Old habits kicking in, John and Arabella bolted from their bed and descended the stairs, each first throwing on a bath robe. On their doorstep was the widow from the end of the street, Mrs. Porter. She was wearing flannel floral pajamas, her salt and pepper hair neatly arranged in a strict bun atop her head, brown eyes wide with worry. Her old and twiggy fingers were knotted and unknotted as John unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Mrs. Porter, what’s the matter?” John asked urgently.

The old woman flew her hands into the air, “Across town there’s an automobile off the main road! There’s a young woman inside in labor! You must come quickly!” the woman yelled, her voice pitching to a squeal as she spoke.

“Come in a moment. We need to change and grab some supplies.” Arabella stated pulling the woman in and watching as John ran up the stairs.

“I used to midwife dearie and there isn’t much time!” the woman squealed. Arabella nodded and followed John above stairs. She dressed quickly in a grey long sleeved compression shirt and pants, donning red her scrubs over them. In an instant she had her hiking boots tied and laced, her hair in a neat ponytail and toboggan over her ears. John was already in the clinic area filling a medical pack with various items they might need, and Arabella began rounding up every blanket she could find in the house. They reconvened to find the old woman pacing worriedly, hope filling her eyes when she found them both geared up and ready to go. Arabella was remiss to let the old woman journey back into the storm with them.

“Mrs. Porter, what kind of vehicle was it?” Ara asked.

“I don’t know! It’s the only one on the edge of town. Straight down the main and only a bit off the road.” She answered quickly.

John grabbed the old woman’s small bony shoulder and said, “Mrs. Porter, get back home and out of this. Ara and I have it from here.” He said and with that he and Arabella ran off into the snow, the vague yellow of the street lamps leading them out of the main street and into the outskirts to enter Bibury. A little ways down they found a lonely, old Volkswagen Jetta covered in thick white snow, the head lamps flashing in the darkness. John said a prayer of thanks upon realizing the car was four doors, assuming they would be delivering a baby in minutes and it would make things a slight easier. In seconds he had fished out a pair of gloves, passed his pack to Ara and opened the back driver side door before pulling them on.

Across the backseat was a lovely red headed woman in her mid-twenties, soaked in sweat and covered in freckles. She had her stockings removed and her green sweater dress was up around her thighs. She cried out when John pulled the door open and calmly he patted her thigh in a gesture of kindness and looked into the young woman’s emerald eyes. Ara pulled open the front driver door and entered the vehicle, smiling at the girl in hopes of calming her mounting fears.

“A-are you the doctor?” the girl asked, panting with wide eyes.

“Dr. Watson. I’m going to take off your knickers now, and Ara here is going to take your blood pressure, kay? There’s no reason to be frightened. Deliveries have happened in much worst places.” And with that he gave her a sweet smile, and Ara did the same, finding the young woman’s blood pressure was a little high but nothing detrimental at this moment.

“What’s your name, love?” Ara asked in her voice that was soft and soothing in the night.

“Dani, Danielle. I was on my way to my parents when-oh!” the girl said another contraction took her breath ending her answer on a yell. John examined the girl and realized she was much more dilated than he had expected and knew there was no possibility of moving the girl. Ara as sitting between the driver and passenger’s seats on the console as close to Dani as possible, and began pushing her bangs from the girl’s wet forehead in a comforting gesture, holding her hand in an almost motherly nature. He loved that side of her, the part she had found and shown throughout the clinic, making the children giggle before receiving their vaccines, gently handling the more elderly patients and all the while glowing with the happiness it brought her. It seemed she had found her calling, and it was helping people.

“Right. Well, Dani. It looks like this baby is ready to make its appearance tonight. Well, right now actually.” He said as the girl groaned and then sobbed. Ara patted the girls hand and let go just long enough to pull on gloves and some tools for the delivery, a blanket at the ready. 

 

“Shh. Hey, now this isn’t so bad. We can do this. It’s just us, you and me.” He said, his eyes locking with hers and causing a long, deep breath to escape the girls chapped lips.

“Alright Dani, push.” He said, and with her fingers locked on Ara’s she did just that and in seconds the baby was crowning. John was smiling sweetly as he urged the girl to push and when the head emerged he let out a short surprised laugh. Ara quickly passed the suctioning tool and he cleared the baby’s nose and mouth, a tuft of bright red hair sticking to its forehead.

“Almost there! Just the shoulders and then one more and its out!” John exclaimed, his knees deep in the snow soaking his scrubs as he knelt before this woman to bring a new life into this world. Ara quickly readied a blanket across Dani’s abdomen and chest as John urged her to push again, and then again before a high pitched wail pierced the cold snowy night. Ara felt the air leave her lungs as tears filled his eyes as he held the small infant in his arms, his mouth open in awe as he laid the squirming, red baby girl in the blankets and Dani sat up. He quickly swiped his tears but Ara let hers flow freely, amazed and proud of the magical moment. She helped clean the baby as best as they could in the confined space of the car, tears of joy filling their eyes. John could not help but think a more magical night had not been had since he fell on Arabella in the snow that Christmas night.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime in the night the snowfall had come to stillness and the mechanic was able to inspect the young woman’s car. Meanwhile, John inspected the baby and then the mother in the clinic, where they had ventured to and slept that Christmas Eve night. Arabella rocked the new born tenderly, cooing softly to her while John gave Dani some suggestions for post-partum care. When the two left the examination room, they found the baby in Ara’s arms, a beam of sunlight just lighting the space where they stood in the waiting area from the glass door. Ara was marveling at the warmth radiating from the tiny baby she held, her fingertip tickling the softest pink cheeks she had ever touched. A small giggling breath escaped the infant and she could not help her smile. She was smitten.

“You’re quite good with her.” Dani said, John still marveling at the scene playing out before his eyes. Arabella’s head snapped up in an instant, eyes wide with wonder and a shy smile on her lips. In truth she had never held an infant in her life.

“Oh she’s just such a darling.” Ara said, passing the baby girl to her mother. Dani took her happily and naturally, her instincts taking over as this was her very first child.

“I wish I could repay you for your kindness to me and the baby. I was quite scared, you know? Too bad she’s a wee girl instead of a lad. No good naming a lass John.” She said, staring into the sweet and sleeping face in her arms barely peeking through a fleece blanket.

“I’ve always been partial to Sherlock. As a name for a little girl.” Arabella said, and John’s eyes locked with hers, filled with admiration and his lips parted.

“Oh that’s right beautiful. Little Sherlock MacDonnell. I think it’ll stick. Far better than Hamish like my father wanted to name her had she been a boy.” Dani said nonchalantly and John and Arabella could not stifle their laughter, John’s ear growing red around the rim.

Moments later the new mother and baby were driving out of town so Dani MacDonnell could take little Sherlock to the countryside and bring her parents a rather extraordinary Christmas gift, their granddaughter. Arabella immediately began ascending their stairs to take a long hot bath when she felt his calloused and warm hand pull hers. She looked back to find John standing there, eyes fixated on hers when she looked at him.

“Thank you, Ara. You’re amazing.” And with his eyes he told her exactly what it was he was thanking her for, and as the tears welled in her eyes she nodded and looked away. Quickly she made her way up the stairs and closed the bathroom door. She felt her heart pounding intensely in her chest and when the bath water began to run she slid down against the side of the tub and drew her knees in close. While delivering the baby with John had made her incredibly happy, she’d never forget the way he looked when he heard that little wail and held the newborn in his hands like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen. His heart for a moment had been full, his joy was tangible and she knew in that moment, she could never give him that. He deserved a woman who needn’t be redeemed, who didn’t have a past filled with blood and sex and then frosted with murder and lies, a woman who could give him a family. She was not that woman.

John sensed something was wrong, but for the life of him he could not fathom what could have happened so suddenly. She had closed the door to the bathroom, leading him to believe he was not invited for a soak with her. Hands on his hips he stared at the door, and then shaking his head slid off his retired military boots and reclined on their bed. Eager as he was to open presents, he would wait for his lovely woman to join him in the warmth of their sitting room. Before he could think any more about what could have upset Arabella, weariness overtook him and suddenly he was dozing.

When Ara pulled herself from the tub, she quickly pulled on her black silk and lace robe and with red rimmed eyes pulled the door open. Her heart snapped when she saw him lying there, peaceful and gorgeous, his breathing steady and deep and my how she loved to listen to just that. She eased down beside him on the bed and found herself unable to resist touching his short hair combed aside. He stirred and she felt a slight of guilt of having disturbed him. When he opened his eyes and smiled as if she were exactly the light of his life she realized how incredibly difficult her next move was going to be. He ran his hands over his eyes swiping them awake and eased up.

“Sorry. Must’ve nodded off. Have a lovely bath?” he asked with a grin. Arabella could only nod in response, already choking on her words. John was immediately on alert, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side next to hers.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently, his eyes on the side of her face, a curtain of golden blonde keeping him from seeing her bright eyes.

“I… John I can’t do this. I need to leave.” She whispered, the tears spilling out and she was internally damning herself. She had promised she would remember her training; she would act as she always had to make sure this was a clean break. Immediately his brows pulled down together.

“No… mm… no. Why? What’s happened?” he asked, his frustration mounting. Arabella swiped her cheeks furiously before she finally looked at him, tears and anger and hurt filling her eyes.

“I’m only going to disappoint you.” She whispered her throat so tight from the pain in her chest, as if someone were ripping her from the middle of her collar bone down. John simply shook his head and placed his hand against her cheek.

“I love you, Arabella. You’re… you’ve made me a better man.” He said and with that the floodgates released inside of her and she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning her head into his chest. He rubbed her back a long moment, touching her hair and kissing her head sweetly. Finally, she pushed off of him and began swiping her eyes, gulping air as she spoke.

“I kn-know you want children, John. I saw the way you held that b-baby last night, and I know it was one of the proudest moments of your life. I c-could never…” and his eyes suddenly widened. Then, he closed them a long moment breathing in through his nose.

He paused a long moment to gather his thoughts before kneeling by the bed, his hands on her knees and his eyes beseeching hers as he spoke, “I want you Arabella Lockley. As my wife. I want whatever life has in store for us and I don’t care if we can’t have children of our own. As long as I have you, I’ll be happy. You’d make a wonderful mother, I won’t deny that. And if that’s something you really want we can adopt. Maybe adopt a little girl off the streets, running from danger that’s cleverer than she knew. Give her a home, a family and legitimate love. Or a little boy. It doesn’t matter, Ara. What matters to me most in this world is you, everything else is just pieces to fall into place.” He said.

Suddenly, Arabella threw herself from the bed and into his arms on the floor and with tears still streaming down her cheeks she kissed him, a small sob hitching from her throat as she inhaled his breath. He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her back, sealing his words with a promise that he meant them. Her robe slipped from her beautiful olive toned shoulders and he began kissing them tenderly as she pulled his shirt off and then the one beneath it. He untied the robe and began touching her smooth skin, kissing her again with his hand on the back of her head and his teeth grazing her lips. In moments they were skin to skin and before he entered her body he whispered, “Marry me, Arabella Lockley.” And his wide blue eyes searched her sapphire ones, pleading with his heart beating into her palm. She did not answer, but simply let him slide between her legs and kissed him with a lifetime of need for affection and love.


	5. Chapter 5

John was incredibly excited about his plans for the evening and the very special box he had in his coat pocket. The local jeweler had a spectacular ring in the very back of his display that as soon as John laid eyes on it he knew it was the only ring for Arabella. It was a very vintage rose gold design with filigree and tiny vines etched all about the band, and in the center was a gorgeous champagne colored morganite cut to display a bursting star effect. The jeweler told John the stone was a representation of divine and everlasting love, and happily he made the purchase and journeyed across the lane to the boutique. 

Arabella had just finished her Saturday morning painting class with some of the mentally handicapped children in Bibury. It was something she had started when she and John began seeing them as patients and found she was quite good with them, cleverly able to communicate with them on a level sometimes even the parents and caretakers could not. So, twice a month she and the five mentally challenged met in the early morning and worked on paintings, drawings, and photography in a small studio. She had begun the whole thing on her own, finding new material frequently, patiently helping and watching the students, and was quite proud of the fruits of their labor. The paintings were extraordinary, several decorating the waiting room of the clinic. For once in her life she was doing something, and since she could not have children of her own this was easing that pain away.

When the last student left for the day she walked to the cottage, only a few houses down and entered the very quiet clinic. She took off her lighter jacket since the weather was warming up and hung it on the rack in the foyer. It was oddly quiet and John was nowhere to be found. She happily assumed he was out for a walk or perhaps he was making a house call, so she ascended the staircase to the flat to wash the acrylic paint from her fingers. Suddenly, something on the bed caught her eye and as she approached the bed she noticed the large note written in his small, rushed cursive.  
“Dinner at 7:00 PM. I’ll be waiting. All my love, John” was all it said.

Then, she noticed the rather gorgeous dress hanging on the closet door. It was the one she had noticed in the boutique on the lane that sold vintage dresses of major brand names. This one was by far her favorite, a nameless number with cap sleeves, a low sweetheart neck, steel boning throughout the bodice like a corset and then a full skirt. It was khaki with rosettes in bright, electric pink dotting all across the bell of the skirt and at the bust line, deep green leaves around them. She found it fit like a dream when she emerged from her rushed shower, dipping her toes in her pointed toe heels the same shade of khaki. She artfully twisted her golden locks to one side in a simple knot, and brushed on mascara and pink lipstick. Even after these two years she still got butterflies when he surprised her, giddy at the prospect of a date night and no idea of where they were going. 

At five ‘til seven John watched his Ara descend the stairs and turn off the clinic lights in the front entranceway. He grinned as she fumbled inside her clutch to lock the front door and widened his smile at the shock on her face when she found him. He was leaned against the door of a 1960’s Mercedes roadster. He looked dashing in a navy blue suit, his tie complimenting the green leaf accents on her dress and that handsome smile pulling at his lips. She felt her heart stutter at the sight of him alone and could not help but blush when he pulled open the door for her. She slid into the right passenger seat and waited as he entered the left door and they pulled off into the night.

“What’s all this, then?” Arabella asked as the old radio sang out classical music and John held his very sneaky grin in place.

“Thought we needed a date night. We’re having dinner in London.” He said, glancing at her and smiling happily, “And after I have us a room reserved.” And then he gave her a cheeky wink. They chatted excitedly about their days, Arabella filling him in on the latest work of her Saturday pupils and he realized as they neared the city his nerves were kicking in. Had he even considered her answer? Would she say no? It wasn’t as if she had other suitors of course, but was that simply because John had taken her away and she hadn’t had the chance? He shook the thought from his mind deciding it best to focus on how lovely she looked tonight, how wonderful her hand felt in his. 

He pulled up in front of a romantic looking Italian restaurant and let the valet take the car keys. He warned the kid to be careful since it was an antique and he knew Mrs. Porter would be expecting her late husband’s car back in mint condition. She was staring at the city around them, inhaling the smells and taking in the sounds realizing she had missed it.

“Oh I’ve missed it here.” She said happily, opening her eyes after closing them and looking at John.

“Let’s move back.” He said, not even thinking about the words before he said them. 

“What?” she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Let’s come back here. You want to, I want to.” And with that he held out his hand. She took it and thought about what he had said. Had he finally moved on? Was he ready to rejoin civilization and leave Bibury?

Once inside they had a table for two overlooking the garden area with a single candle flickering in the center. A few tendrils danced across Ara’s ears and forehead, shimmering like gold in the warm light and John had to set his hands in his lap and double check his pocket for the ring. His nerves were starting to cause him to doubt his memory in this moment and it would be disastrous if he forgot the ring.

“Excuse me a moment.” Ara said and made her way to the lady’s lavatories. Once there she braced her hands on the counter and tried to catch her breath. She hadn’t missed any details since she had entered that car with John and she had deduced one of two events were about to occur, he was going to leave her or he was going to ask her to marry him. Sad to ruin his surprise but if the bulging square in his pocket was any indication then it was the marriage. Arabella wanted to think about all of the reasons she shouldn’t let him go through with it. He was wonderful, she was tainted. He was steady and sure, she was still figuring herself out. He was a good man, she had done things that could not be forgiven.

The waiter was slightly wearing on John’s nerves. For one thing, the man had the most obnoxious French accent he had ever heard in his life. Secondly, all he could focus on at the moment was Ara’s potential response to his proposal. He ordered whatever wine the man recommended and was relieved when he sauntered away, never even glancing at the poor chap. He perked up when she strolled across the room to sit gracefully across from him again, touching the box in his pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

She closed her eyes against the racing of her heart and breathed in deeply through her nose. He wanted to return to London, which could only mean he was ready to move on and that some part of him had healed. It was a relief of course, at the time Bibury had been a welcome reprieve, a balm to their over exposed and raw nerves. Yet, what John and she were most attracted to in life was blood, danger, adrenaline, mystery and masterminds of crime, something they would never encounter in a town so small one couldn't sneeze without someone at the other end of the single lane saying 'bless you'. If they came back, she could work with Lestrade and use her skills to be assistant DI, and John could go back to the clinic or work in the emergency room of St. Bartholomew's. They could afford a small flat far from Baker Street and if she was correct, it would be as husband and wife. The prospect made her very happy, and knowing he deserved better but wanted only her made Arabella decide to take this next bit of happiness in what had seemed like a long and lonely life before John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Carefully, she made her way to the table and took her seat across from John again. The poor man was avoiding eye contact with her and staring intently into his menu, brow furrowed and all seriousness on his face.

Deciding to ease the tension a bit she spoke first, "I think I'm going to have the Fettuccine Alfredo. I've been craving it since last week." she said happily, closing the menu and smiling at him.

"That's why we're here. It was Wednesday when you said it, and I know Italian is your favorite. I figured a night like this was overdue." he said finally meeting her eyes and smiling at her and then watching as a grin lit her face, her white top teeth baring into her plump bottom lip and color staining her cheeks. He always surprised her with how carefully he always listened to her. She tried to think about how much had changed and when she closed her eyes and pictured her future she saw John by her side, the image was perfectly clear. As if when he pulled her into his arms the very first time her heart said, 'Oh there you are. I've been so broken and waiting so long.'. 

"You've never called me Babe." she said looking down at her fingers and then back into his eyes, his brows lowered until he finally issued his perfect sideways quirked grin. She loved that look, adored it really. Then again, there wasn't much to dislike about such a good man. 

"You never were Babe. Not to me anyway, you let me in and showed me Arabella." he answered, matter-of-fact. Then, he licked his lips and began speaking again, "I know that, it seems like I'm the one who saved you that night on the front steps. But Arabella, you... you've changed my life. Made me a better man, made me so... so very happy." and at this he paused as emotions clogged his throat, "I thought Sherlock was all I had, but when he left, there you were. I cannot thank you enough, for keeping me alive." he said, his lips pressed tight together and moisture watering his eyes. He pressed his wrist to them quickly and then eased from his chair.

On one knee, he slid the box from his pocket and said, "Would you please do me the enormous honor of taking my last name? Will you marry me?" he asked.

Arabella felt her tears flowing freely and couldn't stop, so finally she choked out, "You know I've never had a real last name.".

"You can have mine. Is that a yes." he asked with a smile and quickly she pressed her lips to his, pulling him from the floor and nodding vehemently.

"It would be my honor, John Watson." she whispered against his lips before pulling him back in for a kiss, having not even looked at the ring. it could be a novelty, or a children's dress up toy for all she cared, all that mattered was the man.


	7. Chapter 7

It was then the waiter John had ignored previously returned with a bottle of champagne to their table. The tall, lanky man popped the top with a flourish and began to pour John's glass first. He was transfixed by the beautiful smile on his fiance's face as she looked at the ring on her finger. He had no doubts that she adored it and when she looked up at him with tears still in her eyes he needn't have worried. She was happy, not because of their engagement, but because of him. His presence alone. He understood how she felt, how she loved him and he hoped he was doing it right in return.

"It's reminiscent of... an old friend." and as John turned to thank the man and send him off, he was frozen with shock at the sight before him. Arabella's fingers pressed to her mouth in shock as she recognized that deep, smooth voice, looked at the profile of his sharp nose, high cheekbones in the candlelight and piercing gray eyes. John inhaled deeply through his nose and his fist was clenched so tight his knuckles were white. The shock had all of the frozen, although Sherlock had the audacity to look puzzled as if he was expecting a much warmer welcome.

It was a long awkward silence before John stood and his voice very low said, "Two years... I thought-" and his rage was substantial for a man so small and speaking so softly. The emotions were clear on his face, the tears in his eyes he swallowed down forcefully.

"Surprise?" Sherlock said, quirking a dark brow and Ara's hands fell from her face and she closed her eyes, knowing John's next step. Catching the detective off-guard, he grabbed his tuxedo jacket and he fell to the floor, John atop him in a tackle. It caused quite a scened of course, John trying desperately to choke poor Sherlock. They were thrown out of the place rather expeditiously and Ara was a bit put out at not having gotten even a bite of her Alfredo. Sadly, she was more worried about that than Sherlock's return at the moment. Of course she was glad to see him, but after what John had gone through she thought it best she remain off to the side while they duke it out. Silently, they all walked a few blocks before entering a much less posh eatery, John still stone still in his movements and stance. He was more upset than Sherlock had clearly anticipated, so much so it was really quite frightening. 

"Am I the only one reacting like a normal human being to all of this?!?!" he shouted, causing cross looks from the two patrons inside. Ara had really just been trailing behind them and working everything out mentally, solving the mystery of Sherlock's death and quickly realizing Mycroft had assisted him. It was an intricate and complicated plan she knew, and there was no way to ever find out what or better yet, who's body had fallen from Reichenbach. She was perplexed, amazed and above all else angry for John, yet holding it in since he seemed to be very open with his feelings at the moment. 

Sherlock quickly began explaining that not everyone knew yet that he had returned and was alive and well. Although, now everyone in this tiny place knew because he and John were essentially having a shouting match. He then filled them in on why he could let no one know his secret plan, how Moriarty needed to believe he was dead. For the sake of London and John the suicide had to be entirely believable. John informed him he'd been exonerated after his death, that he and Arabella had left the city two years ago. One more shouting match and Sherlock's nose bloodied later, John was walking away on the curb to where he had parked the Mercedes he borrowed while Arabella passed Sherlock a fresh handkerchief for his bloodied face.

"Not quite the welcoming party I'd anticipated." he murmured into the cloth and she shook her head with a sigh.

"I'm so incredibly glad you're alive, Sherlock. But, you have no idea what that man went through, what your loss did to him." she said, and his eyes slid to her profile beside him, an astounded look on his face as if this was news to him. Ara simply rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Also I believe congratulations are in order." he said slyly and Ara felt her resolve melting ever so slightly.

"Yes thank you for crashing the engagement." she said, then looking up at him with a wry smile, "Give him some time, Sherlock. It took me a long time to put him back together after you left. He loves you very much." she answered placing her hand on his bicep a moment and then walked down the curb to join John in the car.

"Jealous, Ms. Lockley?" Sherlock called to her back, covering the emotions her words evoked.


	8. Chapter 8

Arabella climbed into the right side and the car sped away into London traffic. John was quiet and his eyes looked fierce indicating he was still rather taciturn about the whole thing. Sure he was glad Sherlock had not died. It was the betrayal that was eating at him, the broken trust and the pain he went through mourning the loss of his very closest and dearest friend. It wasn't hard to work out how Sherlock had found out their dinner reservations, Mycroft was his brother after all. Which really left only one question unanswered. How did he survive the fall and where had he been while his friends mourned the loss, while the world exonerated the genius far too late? 

"Tomorrow I'm going to see about going back to work at the clinic. Think you can find us a nice flat?" John asked. Arabella could not help her surprise as she turned towards him in her seat.

"You still want to move back?" she asked curiously.

"Well, that was part of the surprise tonight. You and I belong here in London, it's our home. I've already started interviewing some doctor's to take my job." he answered, glancing at her from the driver side of the car. Arabella simply eased back into the seat and smiled, pulling out he mobile and sending a text to DI Lestrade inquiring if he needed an assistant. It would not be long before he also knew Sherlock was alive and well. 

The next morning, she was mapping out rentals in the area adjacent to Baker Street and finding several apartments for rent. She and John would of course need a place mostly furnished and in a decent neighborhood. Her search found her in front of a slate grey town home with a wide bay window facing the lane and a small set of stairs leading to it. She entered and found the place had four apartments inside, two across the hall on the downstairs and two above-stairs. It was a quiet building and the flat with the bay window was available for rent. The landlord, and elderly Mr. Popper, happily showed Ara around. Inside the living room housed the bay window allowing natural light to flood the room. It was an airy space with a lovely bright red sofa across from the fireplace, a large mirror on the mantel and shelves upon shelves for books. There was a breakfast nook painted a pale yellow, a kitchen cramped with an exposed brick wall and two bedrooms with a single bathroom. It had a vintage claw-foot tub, separate shower and his and hers sinks. 

"It's perfect!" she answered and paid the man the pounds to allow them to move in within the week. She quickly texted John the address and waited excitedly as he joined her. She was ecstatic as she showed him about their new home and it was of course infectious. It was a homey place, not too old but not brand new. A few updates here and there had been done, but it wasn't terribly fancy either. The bed in the master was white and wooden and quite large, with a matching wardrobe and side tables and all he could think was how there were new surfaces for him to take Ara on. She nudged his shoulder and gave him a knowing grin, deciphering his thoughts based on the way his ears turned a bit pink on the edges and his eyes darkened with mischievous thoughts.

"Mrs. Hudson was not very happy with me." he said as they walked down the street, arms linked and their steps in perfect sync.

"I should think not. It's been two years, John." she said to him, not at all surprised the landlady had given him the what for. 

"She also did not believe that we are engaged. When I told her I was getting married she actually asked me what's his name. His!" John exclaimed and she giggled heartily. It was no secret that several of their acquaintances were under the impression Sherlock and John were an item. It seemed the news that she and John were together had not spread at all, or was not believable for some odd reason. It seemed in a single day they had gotten all of their affairs in order, and as John held the door open to Arabella and drove them back to Gloucestershire, she looked longingly at the place they would once again be calling their home, and wondered absently what mischief Mr. Sherlock Holmes was getting himself into.


	9. Chapter 9

The flat on Gloucester Place was easy for John and Ara to move into, the record player sat on a book shelf with the records filling two shelves around it. As they unpacked, Frank Sinatra crooned in the background. They had a bottle of merlot on the coffee table and she hummed softly as she stacked John's medical books around the records. He was busily unpacking a few dishes they were gifted in Bibury and made his way to the sitting room when he heard her. Smiling from the archway leading to the kitchen, he set his wine glass beside hers. Dramatically he tugged her hand and whirled her to smack into his chest, her response a lovely giggle. Terrible dancer that he was, he put his hands in hers and moved his feet from side to side and sort of managed to keep rhythm. She never tried to lead though, and he was grateful she always made him feel like a man, having learned to dance early on and was quite an expert with the waltz. As he stopped, he placed a kiss to her ring finger, over the diamond and smiled triumphantly. 

Their lives had become a bit routine, John leaving early by seven am and taking the tube to the clinic where he worked before. Ara would get up before him and make his breakfast and coffee and proceed to make sure his bag had everything including his lunch. Then she left shortly after him to Scotland Yard, taking the tube and entering the office where Lestrade and his coworkers met. He had been ecstatic at her request to become his assistant DI. Her skill set from her previous work spoke for itself and she was better trained with pistols than most on his squad. She was impeccable with interrogation and together they solved the basic domestic murders, jealous husbands, wives wanting the life insurance claim. It wasn't long though, before Sherlock Holmes entered her office.

"Scotland Yard, why Ms. Lockley I would have thought this was much too droll for a woman of your... talents." his deep voice said. His icy eyes assessed the room before he turned his coat collar down and sat across from her.

"What can I do for you, Sherlock?" she asked, folding her fingers across the file on her desk and looking him over carefully.

"Put me on a case!" he demanded, petulantly as usual. She shook her head in exasperation and let out a short laugh.

"You should really talk to John. Patch things up between you two." she responded.

He scoffed and said, "Nothing to patch up. I am simply giving him time to adjust.". She rolled her eyes and then said, "Well, I'll call you if anything comes up too difficult for Lestrade and myself." she said mildly. He pursed his lips in frustration.

"Everything is too hard for him and that git scientist in forensics." Sherlock stated.

"I'm standing right here!" Lestrade said from the doorway and Ara put on a triumphant smile. 

"Well played, Ms. Lockley. I'll be seeing you." Sherlock said as he stood with a dramatic swoosh of his coat tails. "That's soon to be Mrs. Watson!" she shouted as he strode past Lestrade.

Fall had arrived and with it cold rain and slick city streets. Lestrade often gave Ara rides home in his police car and she let him since it wasn't too far out of his way home. She dashed inside the front door and found John in the kitchen plating some very delicious smelling Thai food onto some plates. She had to admit he was very cute when he looked all domesticated, like a tiger playing house cat. She strode into the kitchen, tossing her bag by the front door and grabbed her future husband by the shoulders before giving him a passionate kiss. He still seemed surprised when she kissed him, like he thought maybe he was going to end up alone just as he had always been. She then rounded the counter to nibble a bite of chicken before noticing the magazines beside her plate. She lifted the copy of London Brides and another one before looking at John confused.

"What's all this then?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders before answering, "Thought maybe you'd like some ideas. Normally the bride takes charge and already has the venue booked by now." John said mildly, sitting on the bar stool next to her. She bit her lip and chose her next words carefully. She hadn't done much planning because she needed John and Sherlock to patch things up, and also because she had no family to claim of her own. She didn't have many friends for bridesmaids, and she didn't even know how she would go gown shopping alone. She chose to paste a smile on and murmur thanks as they ate dinner. Why had she not forseen how complicated planning their wedding would be?


	10. Chapter 10

Later back at their flat, John knew that Ara was avoiding the Bridal magazines he had picked up for her and to his dismay he found himself fretting about it. Had she changed her mind? He found that very hard to believe as she treated him as a wife should in all but name and they were so happy. From his mirror above the sink, he could see her pretty petite form curled on the bed, her nose immersed in a Jane Austen and his t-shirt and boxers covering her curves. He grinned and nearly nicked himself as he was moving his razor at the same time. Cursing he finished and wiped his face, joining her on his side of the bed. She set her book aside and gave him her dazzling white smile. No she definitely loved him, it was evident in those sapphire blue eyes and delightful way her nose wrinkled just slightly. 

"So thought of any venues?" he asked, trying to appear non nonchalant as he looked over the newspaper.

"Patched things up with Sherlock?" she asked, knowing of course he was trying to get information from her and knowing just the buttons to press. Pursing his lips he set his paper down, but thought better before answering. She had been none too secretive with pushing John to speak to his best friend, knowing he wasn't whole without him despite the anger and hurt he felt at the mention of the very name. Sighing loudly Arabella set her book on the nightstand and turned to John with his light blue eyes and fair hair. Her face was serious as he simply looked at her, waiting for whatever she was going to say.

"Baker Street." she said simply.

He looked at her like she was crazy and said, "Sorry?".

"The venue." she said simply, her eyes challenging him. John continued to look confused and then looked away from her. 

"I don't know what I expected. That wasn't it though." he said. 

"I've got a lot to do down at Scotland Yard tomorrow. Guy Fawkes day tends to get a bit mad. Think I'll turn in." Ara said, placing her hand on his cheek and giving him a tender kiss.

"Goodnight, love." he answered.

"I love you." she said before reaching over, turning off her light and turning in.

That morning, Ara grabbed one of the wedding magazines and took it with her one her walk to work. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to at least look through one of them for some ideas. It was hard to imagine a big, white wedding after everything she had done in her life. After all, she wasn't some young bright eyed virginal bride worthy of a church wedding. Not to mention the bigger the wedding the more potential it had to be an absolute disaster. But she didn't want to disappoint John, wanted to be the bride he'd imagined so it was best she start putting forth some effort and set a date.

Surprisingly, Guy Fawkes day was rather quiet, no terrorist threats as of yet and so she looked through the ominous magazine on her desk. It surprised her how many ideas were in it for the bride wanting to elope with a small ceremony. It dawned on her that Sherlock could be the one to marry she and John, and smiling she decided that would be perfect. Looking at some of the gowns she found some in a gorgeous shade of blush pink, so pale it was almost white and lovely. She could wear that, instead of the usual white. By the time she left the office that day she had nearly planned the entire thing and was excited to discuss the finer details with her future husband. It was how she knew she should feel, something she thought she'd never have and something every little girl dreamed of no matter the training and torture they endured.

She picked up the pace of her walk home knowing he would be past done with his shift at the clinic and smiled to herself imagining how happy he would be when she told him her ideas. In that second her phone let out a whooshing sound notifying her she had received a text. Then it sounded two more times consecutively and she knew it must have been urgent. Whipping her phone out she realized the text was from an unknown source, and that it was all in code. As she solved the puzzle, her heart stuttered in her chest, like an automatic engine skipping a gear and dying at a red light.


	11. Chapter 11

She reached 221 B in minutes and knocked furtively on the door. Sherlock would know it was her even from the other side of the flat. Mrs. Hudson opened the front door and smiled brightly at Arabella before looking concerned.

"What is it, dear?" she asked when she saw how pale and terrified her face must have looked.

"I need Sherlock." she said, nearly out of breath trying to compose herself as his violin abruptly stopped and he met her at the top of the stairs. One look into her eyes and he knew it was taking everything she had to remain calm and composed, a bit of her training resurfacing. His brows furrowed and his sharp silver eyes were incredibly serious as she rushed to pull her phone from her coat pocket and show it to Sherlock, her hands still.

"Someones taken John. It's a skip code, really one of the easiest to crack. I'm just not so clear on where his location must be." she told him urgently. Sherlock simply snatched the phone from her hand to read the texts from the anonymous source his eyes darting over the screen rapidly and meticulously. Then, without a word he was bolting out of the front door on Baker Street and Ara was following him. Busy London traffic whirred by and she simply watched his face, as he mumbled to himself. Sherlock knew they were running out of time and could not take a cab, it would be too slow.

Arabella whipped out her badge at the exact moment a couple on a scooter came speeding up to them, her body in the way of their progress down the street. 

"Official business on behalf of Scotland Yard! Off it, now!" she said, her voice firm and convincing as the startled gentleman and his girlfriend relinquished their helmets. Arabella grabbed the bloke's, sliding it on and grabbing the throttle on the handle. Sherlock was left with the pink helmet belonging to the girlfriend as Arabella felt one of his long thin arms grab her waist, the other pointing in the direction of St. James the Less. She gunned it as fast as the thing could take her, and it was a quick thing, but her immense fear for John made everything feel slow and measured.

Sherlock held the phone in one hand and Arabella's waist with the opposite, the texts coming quick succession as they neared the cathedral. He watched her face but she was stone like, remaining calm he could see her gears turning in her head, her focus on saving John's life. As they neared the circle outside of Saint James, the texts continued firing and Sherlock felt the pressure and weight falling on him. He was running out of time. Guy. The word stuck with him and as he snapped his focus on the bonfire of the Guy Fawkes doll he knew. 

With no explanation to Arabella he flew from their transport and rushed to the bonfire, heart racing and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Arabella was steps behind him and gave out a cry of fright as he lunged for the sticks and wood burning plumes of smoke into the cold night. Shocked cries filled the air while she watched with horror as the man she was mad for was brought from the fire, his clothes smoking and several scrapes bleeding on his head. A rush of breath caused his chest to heave and it spurred her back into motion, crossing the crowd of shocked spectators and hitting her knees next to him. Immediately she lavished his face with kisses and pulled him into her arms embracing him by the shoulders.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock helped Arabella carry John into their new flat, one of his arms draped about each of their shoulders. He was weary and a bit disoriented from being drugged, his body having been momentarily paralyzed and he smelled strongly of bonfire smoke. He didn't speak much but allowed Arabella to help him to bed, his usual stubbornness subdued for the moment. She found Sherlock in the kitchen once he was resting in their bed, perched precariously against the counter. Automatically she brewed coffee and then dug deep into a cabinet beneath the sink before pulling out a bottle of Macallan single malt. After pouring two fingers and handing Sherlock a mug she downed the glass and crossed her arms looking at the floor.

Recognizing that bottle, having seen it before in a certain British Government office Sherlock cleared his throat. Hands holding to the counter behind her back Arabella looked up into his icy silver eyes and narrowed her fiercely blue ones.

"Is this about you? Or me? Which is it this time?" she asked, her brow arching in question. 

Sherlock suddenly lowered his brows, one hand finding his pocket, the other hanging straight at his side, "This time?" the deep voice said defensively.

"The bomb incident was about you. In fact Moriarty was all about you and he was in the line of danger. Specifically when a gun was pointed at his head." she answered angrily, her tiny finger pointing at his chest, her face turned up to look at him angrily. He of course rolled his eyes like a petulant child and scoffed.

"I happen to think your enemies at this juncture out number mine. Moriarty is dead. You, on the other hand, are very much alive and I have a feeling there's quite a few gentlemen out there who would very much like that to not be true." he stated carefully. She knew he was right, very right in fact. And with Moriarty dead it was likely that she had brought this down upon them although she was sure the Corsica had been stopped. It would be incredibly difficult to pin point who would take these measures. Over the last two years none of her former targets had been in contact with her. He had a right to be worried, Sherlock was John's other half, but she didn't like the 'we both know what's going on here' look he was giving her.

"Sherlock I think you should leave. I need to take care of my hus-" she began.

"Future husband." he recounted spitefully before she extended her finger to the door.

"Out." she said, her voice so quiet and calm he was nearly terrified of the petite creature before him. In his usual way he dramatically exited the front door, but stopped before closing it just long enough to say "You might want to lock this door, Ms. Lockley. But then again it won't do much in the way of a bullet." and before she could throw anything at him he was gone. Sherlock Holmes made her damn furious, but in truth she knew it was because they shared a similar interest, John Watson. Sherlock loved that man fiercely, and if he felt like Arabella wasn't doing her job to protect him then they had a problem. That was what their entire confrontation had been about. 

Carefully Arabella found MI6's database on her smartphone and began cracking its extensive security protocols. She would need to find the archives on her mission from the five years prior to meeting John and Sherlock. She glanced over at him, noting he was sleeping heavily and his face was completely relaxed and handsome as ever. She desperately wanted to nurse the scrapes on his temple, now dried with blood but he didn't like to be fussed over. He'd take care of it himself in the morning and be grateful if she pretended everything was normal when he arose in the morning.


	13. Chapter 13

She didn't sleep all night, rather stayed beside John until the sun began to rise and knew he'd be up soon. The soldier in him arose early and she didn't need him knowing she'd watched him all night unable to sleep, so she curled down next to him and closed her eyes pretending to be asleep. Arabella hadn't been able to find anything on her previous targets, it was as if she were wiped from the archives entirely. She knew she would have to speak with the one person who could give her answers about her past and she wasn't sure how welcoming he would be. Not to mention how awkward the conversation, since he was her former lover and she had tearfully spoken her goodbyes to him two years ago. Still, if it kept the man she loved with all of her being safe, then the sacrifice would be made.

He was having a cup of coffee in the kitchen when she came from her shower, dressed in a navy shift dress, pointed toe flats and her hair in a bun. She walked straight to him and kissed his lips, her eyes looking into his for a brief moment.

"I'm fine, by the way. And no I didn't see my assailant. I know you're going to ask." he said.

"I always wanted a smoking hot husband. I think perhaps you took it a little too literally." she said fixing her own mug and taking a sip, trying to keep things light. His smirk let her know she had accomplished her goal. 

"Sherlock asked me to come by. He has a case I believe." John stated and her grin widened.

"I had a feeling you'd be seeing him again." she answered.

"Why do you say it like that? And why are you smiling? I'm not going to help him or anything." he said firmly. Arabella simply turned away and rolled her eyes.

With a quick goodbye they parted ways, Arabella taking the tube to the heart of London whilst John made his way to Baker Street. On her way she called Lestrade to let him know she had to take care of some personal matters but to call if a crime scene popped up. He was understanding as always and she was fighting her guilt and not informing John of her plans for the day. She had never been in a real relationship such as this and she was unsure of the proper protocol for seeing one's ex when engaged. Best to get to the bottom of John's assailant now and ask for forgiveness later when everything was over with and done.

She walked inside of the building just as she had so many times before, after her various missions, to report back to the man who ruled her world and her entire existence. What was different this time was the stern looking receptionist who stopped her approach to his office door. Ara quickly explained she was an old associate of his and needed to see Mycroft immediately. She was quickly rejected, told she was more than welcome to wait but without an appointment she would likely be there for hours. That was just fine. She would wait if it meant answers. Tapping her foot as she sat with ankles crossed the time began ticking by.


	14. Chapter 14

Arabella was growing very frustrated and impatient waiting for the self important Mycroft Holmes She'd never had to wait on him before, always first in his office and he had always been there. Well, perhaps self-important wasn't quite the right world, he was practically the ruler of England. Still, she had not anticipated being on this side of things and it made her realize she had rather fallen from her station since Sherlock and John. It made her smile to herself at the thought, at how very lucky she had been to have fallen onto the steps at 221 B that summer night so long ago. 

It was at that exact moment the familiar tap of an umbrella upon marble made Arabella turn from the plush velvet red chair she sat in and see the man whom had ruled her existence for so long. The daily paper was tucked securely beneath his arm, not a hair out of place on his head and his face ever impassive as always. Looking bored as if ruling the world was like watching paint dry. When his eyes met her midnight blue ones, he stopped mid stride, his mask slipping ever so slightly. It was only a split second, and only one who knew him would have caught the momentary flash. She smiled confidently and stood, as he soon stood before her, his tall lean form towering her short one just as it always had. 

"Ms. Lockley. This is a surprise." he said raising a brow and looking over her speculatively. 

Mycroft was a stickler for propriety, so she smiled brilliantly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed as he smelled her sweet and womanly perfume and felt the softness of her lips, before they roamed her face again and he said, "To what do I owe the pleasure?".

"Could we speak in private? Your office?" she asked, watching as he considered her request. Of course he now had the opportunity to use his power against her, send her on her way and be done with it. Yet, he couldn't. It'd been two years, and the time had been good to her. She was as lovely as ever, no older like the delightful porcelain doll she was. Letting her go had been his vindication for all he had put her through, but he wanted to hear her speak. 

Never giving her a firm response he simply walked into his office and left the door ajar for her to follow. She followed carefully to find the office had not changed as she heard the door click and found herself facing the long windows and his perfectly organized desk. He sat across from her, offered tea and unbuttoned his blazer to sit in his excellent leather chair, then, he fixed his gaze on her again, as she lowered her cup to the saucer.

"It's about my past. I'm concerned it is coming back to haunt me, but this puts my family at risk." she stated seriously, her mouth becoming a firm line.

"I am assuming you are referring to the Guy Fawkes incident." he said, steeping his fingers against his lips. She nodded vigorously and licked her lips before speaking again.

"I fear its because of me. Because of the enemies I've made. Moriarty is dead and he only ever tried to hurt John to get to Sherlock.". His eyes narrowed as he turned an idea over in his mind. Carefully he stood and placed his hand in his pocket, staring out of the large glass windows. An unmistakable opportunity had presented itself and he was now deciding what his next move would be, the pieces on his chess board were back in motion.


	15. Chapter 15

"I have reason to believe Mr. Magnussen is your adversary. I believe he wishes to destroy you." Mycroft said, turning back to face her and finding the reaction he had anticipated. Her eyes had widened and her face was quite ashen in color.

Arabella felt her mouth go dry and a chill had ran up her spine with the hairs on her neck standing on end. It was a name she thought she would never hear again and as she ran her suddenly damp palms down the dress of her skirt she tried to calm the acceleration of her heart.

Charles Augustus Magnessen had been her target prior to the Arbordean investigation that led her to her attack by the Corsica. It was a mission she would never forget, one she had blocked out to stave off the nightmares. It had been years since his face haunted her every waking thought, and yet with the simple statement of his name her breathing had seized up within her lungs. The memories began washing over her like being dipped in an ice bath.

Dressed in a long black evening gown, silver diamonds dripping from the low v of the neckline and delicately from her ears,Babe was planted at the posh gentleman's club where she would meet Magnessen and use her skills to seduce him. Fluttering her lashes and pressing her cleavage to his arm he would buy her a drink and play with the lapels of his coat. All in a day's work. She was meant to court him and find out what he knew about the British Government and MI6 Intelligent. He had been threatening various political leaders and manipulating their moral standings. The man was revered as a mad genius with intelligence surpassing Mycroft and Sherlock combined. He was evil, twisted, calculative, but Babe took this as any other mission, prepared to do what she was trained to do and encrypt all of his files to protect the world from absolute war and mayhem. 

She would always remember her gut reaction to his small cold eyes, the touch that sent shivers down her spine and the whisper in her ear that made her tremble with fear and disgust. He was not a man, he was a monster. He was the kind of sociopath that made Moriarty look normal and his every move was calculated and every touch was lined with an underlying threat of violence. He had known from their first meeting Babe was placed there to target him, and had played her game for nearly a month. A fact he did not reveal until their courtship brought her back to his mansion one night and what should have been a tussle in his bed quickly became a night of torture and stomach wrenching terror. 

Babe had shut herself off and managed to down as much scotch as her flask would allow and as much as was classy in the presence of Magnessen. She was calm and her breathing even as she felt those cold and threatening fingers unzip her dress that night. The fireplace was lit to a roar in the library providing a flirtatious flush to her olive toned cheeks. And in an instant she was drugged and on the ground, the last normal physical contact she consciously knew was the texture of the rug on her face. But what was far worst was how she remembered wishing she had never awoken later that night.

Days later Babe was recovered from a drug den south of the Thames, her dress ripped and her eyes covered while her wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties. They had misplaced her having no way to track her and Magnussen had disappeared on his yacht. The agents that had located her rushed her to Bart's where she was immediately administered fluids and, aside from some narcotic withdrawals seemed unharmed. But Mycroft had known better. He had anticipated her scars would be entirely mental and so when he walked through the hospital room door he felt that uncomfortable twitch in his chest. It was worst when he saw her deep blue eyes like thick glass staring blankly out of the window, her head turned away from him and her long lashes fluttering against her cheek as she slowly blinked. 

Not long after that he was personally mailed a small USB drive with the videography of Arabella and Magnussen. He forced himself to watch it all, despite nearly wanting to vomit and washing it down with several bottles of scotch. He felt he had to in order to punish himself for what she'd been through. He has after all, recommended her for the mission. In short she was placed in a first rate psychological therapy program, Mycroft took the entire episode as Magnussen's way of threatening his power and his government so the project was moved to an incomplete place in the system. It seemed the man had not forgotten and would not stand to see Arabella happily back in London with her fiance.


	16. Chapter 16

"I can't come back, Mycroft. Not to that life." she whispered, hanging her head and staring down at her manicured fingers.

Mycroft merely folded his hands across his desk and continued his complacent stare. After a brief silence he said, "Then I cannot help you.". With a snap her head came up and her sapphire eyes were fierce and narrowed. Her cheeks flushed, staining them red as her own fury as she stood and straightened her shoulders.

"After all I have done for the Crown! For you and for your brother. John is the most important person in this world to him. If something happens he will be in pieces and not even the mighty Mycroft Holmes will be able to sort him out!" she said. 

He steepled his fingers over the neatly arranged files on his desk and narrowed his eyes at her calmly.

"I could compensate you generously. Whether you inform John of your decision is up to you. We can compensate you generously as before." He carefully stood from his desk as he continued, "The right donations to the appropriate committees would look rather nice on an application for adoption." he said. Shock spread over her face as she looked at him.

"How did you-" 

"Your search history will always be monitored, Babe. You know more than any civilian and more than any agent has lived to carry. Merely a precaution."

He was baiting her. He knew it too, but worst than that Arabella knew what he was up to. Then again, she knew couples had easier and more expeditious luck in the adoption process if they could make a one time large donation. Their chances of adopting an infant would increase as well and John would get to be a father from a child's very beginning stages of life. And she would get to be a mother. Something she found herself rather drawn to as of late, wanting to spread the excess love she shared with John on a small innocent that had not had such fortune. 

"Consider it a means to an end. You stop Magnessen, your beloved fiance and your country is safe, and you can carry on. As a wife and perhaps even, if you so wish, a mother." he said.

Her mind was made up before she had the chance to over think it, "I want my gun back and a written contract that once Magnessen is arrested I am no longer monitore by MI6. Or you." she stated firmly. Mycroft issued her a grim smile before going over to the bar in his office. He poured two fingers of McCallan single malt into two tumblers and brought one to where she stood. He placed it delicately in her palm and lifted his in salute. Hesitantly she clinked hers to his and he said, "To happy endings." and they emptied their glasses. The aroma and alcohol burning an all too familiar path to her stomach.


	17. Chapter 17

Her revolver tucked away inside of her bag, Arabella knew she had every reason to feel guilty for the lies she would soon be telling John about both her work and her social life. Still, she was convinced this was the only way to ensure her husband was safe and the best chance she'd have at giving him the family he so deserved. As she left his office, the Macallan was not sitting well in her stomach and after a shaky ride on the tube she tucked into the lou and tossed up her earlier breakfast. A knot of upset remained behind as she made her way back home and changed into her pyjamas. Feet curled up on the couch she began her research and found her access to all of MI6's database was at her fingertips again and began to re acquaint herself with Mr. Magnussen. It seemed other agents had been keeping tabs on his travels and dealings since her... incident and there was his picture with his evil eyes and haughty demeanor. As she stared at the face of the man that had put her through the very depths of hell and dumped her in a drug den, she felt a strong desire to see him bloodied at her feet. He would pay for what he had not only done to her, but for what he had nearly done to John.

When John at last entered his cozy flat he was relived to see his future bride curled on the couch dozing off. He felt his exhaustion down to his bones but, assumed that was normal after one spent their day on a tube strapped with explosives. The emotional turmoil of thinking he'd never see his beloved Ara had torn him nearly in two. Imagining how she would react when the police knocked on their door and told her there had been an explosion at Parliament. He could not for the life of him picture her wilting like a flower and falling to her knees in sobs, but knew she would die inside. She was, afterall, just as mad for him as he for her. The weight of the day also made him realize how much he had missed Sherlock, and that yes after what he had been through he did, in fact, forgive him for faking his death. He may never understand why, why he could not know the truth at the time, but his best friend was alive and well, and he had a wedding to plan. Which meant he would soon ask Sherlock to be his best man, something he was quite sure no one had asked of him before. It would be quite an interesting feat from start to finish, no doubt.

He smiled lovingly down at her noting those lovely lashes fanned across her flushed cheeks and lifted the magazine from her hand as he knelt beside her on the sofa. Tenderly, he kissed her neck and lingered as she mumbled awake. 

"I missed you, Darling." he said whispering in her ear. She grinned up at him sleepily and pulled him down to the couch with her.


	18. Chapter 18

It seemed the wedding came together quite suddenly and yet, it had really been so incredibly simple. Arabella had been extremely exhausted as of late but knew it was from the mental stress she had put on herself following Magnussen and his future plans. She had yet to uncover the specifics but it seemed his primary target was someone in the government, yet he seemed to have little interest in the queen herself. Which left her to research dozens of members of parliament and their family history, backgrounds and uncovering any potentials for scandal in order to protect them. If he had no pressure point, then Mother England would remain safe for the moment, The hardest part was of course keeping all of this from John and keeping herself off of Magnessen's radar. The idea was to keep him thinking he had scared her on Guy Fawkes day and that while she had not forgotten him she would remain out of his way.

After meeting with Mycroft to update him on her progress and intel in a posh London lounge, she made her way back to her flat as a gentle early winter snow began to fall. She was just passing a second hand bridal boutique when the window display caught her eye. There was an array of gowns on mannequins wearing white gowns and among them was tasteful Christmas decor and bright red poinsettia bouquets. The shop seemed nearly empty and at first glance appeared closed, then she spotted the shop keep, a petite older man bustling about and fluffing various skirts.

She entered the front door and a soft bell chimed in the quiet of the sop, with classical Bing Crosby carols crooning over the sound system. The short and stout little man immediately came over and grabbed Ara's hand, grinning.

"Welcome to my little shop my, dear. My name is Mr. Button! Are you a bride to be?" he asked eagerly.

Ara found she immediately liked this gentleman and smiled at him kindly, "I am. Arabella Lockley. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Button." she said.

He led her over to a pair of red damask velvet chairs and gestured for her to have a seat. He held up a tiny finger and bustled to a back room and in a few moments, returned with a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups and saucers. 

"Care for a cuppa, my dear?" he asked. Arabella was unable to say no to his generosity and gently lifted the saucer and tea cup, taking a sip and resting it delicately in her lap. Mr. Button rested the tray on the small table between them and after taking a sip of his own tea smiled at her mischievously. He reminded her of a character in a play, of Puck from a Midsummer Night's Dream with his impish stature and wide blue eyes that saw more than he let on. He also seemed to be a man not to be trifled with, and was dressed so handsomely in his three piece suit of deep navy with a violet vest and tie, and brown wingtips. There was something so odd and charming yet warm and inviting about Mr. Button and his shop.

"So tell me about your special day, Angel." he said raising his brows.

"Well, that's the thing. I haven't really had much time to plan it at all. I don't have a date, a venue, not a caterer or musicians. Nothing is at all how I've been told it should be. Except for the groom. He is perfect, and kind, and wonderful. He is more than I deserve." she said, spilling her heart to this little man she had just met. 

"Oh pish posh! Those things are not at all important. All that matters is your prince and you. Here's what I want you to do for me. Close your eyes." he instructed her, his voice low and serious. Arabella did as she was told.

"Try to remember the exact moment you fell for him, or the moment you finally admitted it to yourself. I imagine you're a tough one in that department. Base the wedding off of that moment alone. It'll be all you need to know."

Arabella remembered that perfect Christmas night on Baker Street when she asked John Watson if he could dance. She remembered his awkward smile she'd grown to adore and the way he had pulled her close and together they fell down onto the fresh soft inches of snow. He had caught her with his hands to keep her from sinking to the concrete. And from 221B Sherlock was playing the most beautiful rendition of Silent Night. That night had changed something in her, had changed the way she saw herself and the man that had done all in his power to patch her together the summer before. 

When she opened her eyes she smiled at Mr. Button and said, "You're a wonderful man, aren't you? I know exactly how this wedding should be." and with that she stood and stared around at the beautiful racks of white gowns until she found a rack devoted to the most pale and beautiful blush gowns, walking over to them and running her fingers over the delicate satins and organza.


	19. Chapter 19

"Surely there is someone better suited to this task." Sherlock stated gruffly in his familiar chair before the fire on Baker Street. Arabella lowered her tea cup and narrowed her eyes at him. 

"It really needs to be you, Sherlock. I haven't anyone else you know this." she stated very seriously.

"Why not Mrs. Hudson?" he asked.

"She's my matron of honor. And a witness. I really need you." she said, reaching between them and resting her hand atop his "I know you fear I am not what John needs, that I cannot protect him. I can take care of him, I want to. To the end of his days and mine. He will always have you to cure his boredom as well." she said firmly, her navy eyes fixed on his silver ones as she spoke. He maintained his suspicious expression, eyes still narrowed and lips in a thin line. 

"And I am to be his best man as well. You shall have your way, Arabella." he stated severely,and despite his defensive and objective demeanor, she leaned down quickly and kissed his cheek for a brief moment. 

"I can promise you this, Mr. Holmes. Soon all will be well." she said and with that he descended the flat stairs and made her way out onto the busy London street.

Arabella made her way to high-end London donning a very realistic, short, bob styled wig of deep brunette, and beneath her oversized sweater and tights she wore a rather skimpy, red, sequin dress with thigh highs and garters. This was the uniform of the cigar girls at a Gentleman's club that Magnessen frequented. The place was known for it's discretion for its clients and their particular tastes, offering high end women of class willing to perform to their buyers desire. It was aptly named the Clydesdales, as the working girls were paraded before wealthy men like horses at livestock fairs and chosen on their breeding, strength, and stamina. If she was to find out anything about Magnessen's recent dealings it would be from some of his cohorts at the club or some of the girls. She was not yet prepared to approach Magnessen, knowing he would see through any disguise she would don and she would not become another one of his victims as she had been all those years ago. All she needed was information to put him away in a high security prison for life, proof that he had been manipulating the law and members of parliament to gain immunity and power in the British government. In truth, her biggest fear was that if she found herself in another one of his traps, he would actually kill her. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John stood before the shop for men's black tie attire and entered. Inside they began the journey of choosing their wardrobe for the fast and approaching wedding day. Sherlock found his suit quite quickly and the tailor had assured him the alterations would be completed in a few days as he would need the sleeves brought down, the waist taken in and a few other things. He would wear black, accompanied with an emerald green, satin tie and matching vest, and black dress shoes. John on the other hand wasn't having quite as easy of a time finding his wedding attire. The shop keep kept asking him questions but he found himself unable to make any firm decision, so unsure. 

"I am the difficult one as you have frequently reminded me so please do tell why it is you have traded places with me?" Sherlock asked eyeing John carefully.

"I just want... to give Arabella everything. She deserves it. Deserves a better man than me." at this Sherlock quite loudly scoffed before a cross look shut him up and John continued, "She deserves a fairytale wedding. A real one like little girls dream about. And when she sees me at the end of the aisle, or whatever you'd call it considering it'll be on the street, I want her to be sure." he stated, his eyes roaming the samples placed about on various mannequins with accessories suggested with the color schemes. 

Sherlock crossed the room in a long stride and stood before his friend, and placed a hand on his shoulder with a cocky knowing tilt of his lips.

"She will be happy because you will be at the other end. Your wardrobe will make no difference."


	20. Chapter 20

The snow was falling so softly, it was merely a white shimmer across the air, so gentle and light it could be seen through very clearly. It was just as she had imagined it as night fell and Mrs. Hudson helped her into the gown she had chosen to marry the man she had not dared to dream of for so long. The kind landlady pinned a long golden curl back with the same hair pin she had worn on her wedding day, adorned with blue sapphires and pearls in the shape of an oval.

"Of course my husband was a drug lord and on the lam. It'll bring you better luck, love. Oh and John's a wonderful man, of course!" she said happily. She smiled and thanked her with a kiss on her old cheek and then applied a soft shade of red lipstick to her lips. For the sake of not letting the gentlemen and her few witnesses freeze on this cold Christmas Eve she had begun readying herself early in the day. Taking her time of course but making sure she was ready long before time to walk down the aisle. She'd not have her groom a popsicle on their wedding night. As she approached the main entryway to Baker Street, she reached for her bouquet of bright red roses and felt a tremble inside. For a moment, Arabella wasn't sure if she was imaging her dress fitting so tight or if perhaps excitement was causing her shortness of breath. Either way she closed her eyes and knew in her heart of hearts this was right and that she was going to marry the man she would want and adore for the rest of her life.

John stood next to Greg Lestrade, whom Arabella had arranged be ordained to marry the two of them this evening, and on his opposite was Sherlock with his violin resting in his hand against his leg with the bow perched in the same hand. Molly and her new beau waited just before them and it was his understanding that Mrs. Hudson would be bearing witness as well on this Christmas Eve night. Baker Street was covered in a blanket of soft white snow as it hadn't been driven on since the day before and no cars seemed to be travelling on this very quite night. The street lamps glowed and the moon shed light on their make shift wedding aisle and venue and John had just reached his hands to blow on them when it seemed Sherlock received his much awaited cue. 

Sherlock played the first few lines of Silent Night slowly and through the notes there was a magical romance that only he could impregnate in the notes. The door to 221 was opened and Mrs. Hudson came out first in an emerald green skirt suit and a matching hat adorned with a white poinsettia. She took her place opposite of Molly and her date and then turned towards the open doorway where his bride emerged.

If he thought he knew how truly beautiful she was, in that moment he was wrong. If he thought he would be prepared to see her without shaking, he was not. Immediately the breath was gone from his lungs and tears welled into his eyes. She walked towards him so gracefully she practically floated across the snow's powdery surface and every bit of her seemed to be glowing. Her hair was perfectly tamed in golden, vintage waves laying over shoulders, one side pinned back with a beautiful hair pin that matched her eyes. Her dress was so beautiful, a pale and elegant pink that lightly contrasted the snow and made her ivory skin appear more golden. It as covered in a thin layer of tulle giving it a dreamy appearance and the corset with a sweetheart neck hugged her waist and accentuated the curve of her breasts and straps laying across her smooth shoulders, while from the hips down the dress flowed around her like a cloud. Clutched in her hand was bouquet of the most red roses and from her ears hung the tiny diamonds he had bought her one Christmas before. By the time she stood before him, Sherlock's violin was through playing and John could hardly see through the tears in his eyes. Quickly, he turned away from her to try and blink back his tears and stand tall like the soldier he once was. 

He looked wonderful of course, as she crossed the snow to him, hoping she did not fall from her sheer excitement and overwhelming weight of her love for him. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a white shirt, silver vest and silver tie. His hair was combed neatly as ever and his light eyes looked at her like she had completely surprised him. His smile was glorious and her reason for breathing as she walked closer. The most unexpected thing was how the tears flooded his eyes so quickly, and as she had not prepared for such an emotional reaction, she found herself nearly in tears herself, trying terribly to keep them at bay so as not to smear her make up. She had never dreamed of being loved so much, and as he turned from her to compose himself she could not help her smile, could not help her disbelief that she now stood where she did.

With a deep clearing of his throat, Sherlock pulled Arabella's attention to him and before extending his elbow to her, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. She placed her hand on his long lean arm and turned towards Greg Lestrade, whom had a knowing smile and was ready as promised with a piece of paper clutched in his hand for some guidance through the ceremony. He and John of course looked confused that Sherlock was holding Arabella close but gave her a quick wink and nodded his head to let him know to proceed. Greg's eyes widened only a moment before he cleared his throat and looked down at his sheet.

" Who... uh... who gives this woman away to be married?" he asked hesitantly. 

"I, Sherlock Holmes, do. Although she is not mine to give and I'll admit I was quite confounded at the request that I do this service for Arabella. My hesitation, of course, caused her to believe that perhaps I did not think she was deserving of John. Which I would like to clarify now." and then he turned his silver, serious eyes to her, "As merely my friend, you were willing to take a bullet for me. In fact, willing to die for me and you almost did. Something, I'm afraid my logical and brilliant mind will never conceive. However, should that be what you are capable of for a friend, I can only imagine what you would be willing to do for the man you love, John Watson. He is the greatest man I have ever known and I will remain infinitely unworthy of his trust and friendship. But, Arabella, trust me when I say you deserve this man, for it is not only true, but this is the highest compliment of which I am capable. And I believe you will give him all he has ever needed and dreamt of to the end of your days." and with incredible calm and tenderness, he took her bouquet, handed it off to Mrs. Hudson with a small smile, and placed Arabella's hand in John's, kissing her cheek and stepping aside to allow the ceremony to continue. It was a moment before, she could turn to John, amazed at the gesture, the immense weight of his words, and astonished at the incredible gesture he had just performed. Apparently she was not the only one as Lestrade suddenly shook his head and began scanning his page to find his place and begin again.


	21. Chapter 21

There was really no topping Sherlock Holmes when he was sincere, and after the beautiful speech he had just given Arabella feared her vows would fall entirely short. When she turned to her groom she was astonished to find his heart in his eyes, tears still welling at both how she looked and the kindness in Sherlock's words. She looked at the silver haired and handsome Lestrade and at his nod looked back at John's fair blue eyes.

"I didn't want to love you, John Watson, because I was not worthy of it. And how could I ever hope for a sunset to love me back? Yet the moment you touched my cheek, I was mad for you. And never did I jut love you, I am IN love with you and that makes all of the difference. I will never hurt you, I will never make you feel alone, and I will never allow harm to come to you physically or emotionally. And as I stand here I want to promise you how I will bake cookies with our adopted children and make mad passionate love to you night after night, and make your world exciting and full of life. But I won't. Because instead I will show you every day in every way I can. The greatest honor that can be bestowed on me is the honor of being your wife and partner until my last breath." she said, calmly and sincerely, her deep midnight eyes never leaving his as she spoke with all of her heart. Then, slowly those ruby lips curved into a knowing grin as he cleared emotion from his throat.

"Arabella, I wasn't alone or all that broken when I found you. At least, I didn't think I was. I had a handful of friends, a good bit of work keeping me occupied and a favorite pub. And then there was you. And I began to wonder how I'd ever gone so long without you, like a part of me woke up from a dream. Words will forever fail me when I try to explain how I love you, or what you mean to me. You are more than loved by me, Arabella, you are cherished. I'll always be by your side, I'll always do all I can to be the man for you. And when we're eighty or ninety, even one hundred, I still want to be holding your hand and hearing you read or hum softly, I'll always be mesmerized by the snores when your deeply asleep, and I'll always want my soul bound to yours. " and he cleared his throat again and tried to smile at her as tears fell from her long lashed eyes. Lestrade cleared his throat and even his eyes seemed damp as he continued through his little walkthrough of a proper marriage ceremony. With only two words left to be said, they each uttered a heartfelt "I do." and the wedding party erupted into loud cheers echoing along the quiet street as they kissed as official husband and wife.

Once congregated inside of Baker Street, everyone began celebrating with champagne and a small batch of cupcakes from a nearby bakery. Christmas lights glimmered from inside where Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson had taken it upon themselves to dress the reception up a bit. And no one was to open the fridge what with the body parts piled up in there. John was receiving a round of congratulations when a wave of heat fell on Arabella and she ducked into the kitchen near the back window, sliding it open and sneaking a bottle of red wine from a nearby cabinet. Briefly she glanced down at her phone and noted a single text that read: Congratulations. It was from none other than her current and secretive employer. The permanent pit that had resided in her stomach tightened and she was more than ready to get out of her corseted wedding gown. She loved the gown dearly but Mrs. Hudson had laced it far too tight. 

"Having second thoughts Mrs. Watson?" a deep and velvety voice asked. Right by her shoulder was the tall, lean form of Sherlock. She smiled and took a sip of red wine right from the bottle.

"Got a bit warm in there. Also, no idea how I sipped that champagne for so long. It's ghastly. Figured you had a bottle of red tucked in here somewhere and I was craving it a bit." she answered brightly.

"Well do please have the decency to drink from a glass." he said and then presented two wide, wine glasses from behind his back. He set them on the sill and poured a bit into each.

"It's my wedding day, Sherlock. Can't I drink from the bottle if I wish?" she said pouting a bit.

"All the more reason to behave like an honest woman. Not a trollop that drinks from the bottle." he said sternly and she simply laughed and grabbed his arm, hugging it to her. 

"John's very lucky to have a Sherlock Holmes for his best friend." she sighed as she forced him to let her hang on his arm a moment.

"I'm quite sure that dress is cutting of the circulation to your brain, Arabella." he said, still serious as ever.

"Well it is quite a bit tight. Not sure if Mrs. Hudson laced it so or if I'm going mad." she answered and he glanced at the criss crossed laces at the back. 

Moments later, Sherlock stood before the roaring fire and gathered the attention of the visitors that evening. Everyone had a glance of champagne, save for Ara and Sherlock with their glasses of red wine and all eyes fell on Sherlock. He was doing his best man duties of course, but Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson were trying to hide their curious stares as he began to speak. 

"I'm afraid John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions and, in particular, love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the death watch people, that is the doom of our society and, in time one feels certain, our entire species." and with that Arabella smacked her forehead. This was going about how she imagined it would. John was tight lipped and his eyes were wide.

" But anyway, let's talk about John" he continued.

"That's the idea." John said and a slight giggle escaped Ara as a snort.

" If I burden myself with a little help mate during my adventures it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes in truth from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.", another statement followed by blank stares and Ara glanced at her new husband and gave him a shake of her head.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful" and his eyes flicked to Arabella, " and uncomprehending in the face of the happy." and his eyes fell on the two of them, "So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. And certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I am apparently you best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion. Actually, now I can." he said and his focus fell only on Arabella, "When I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war and injury and tragic loss - so sorry again about that last one - so know this; today you stand between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Arabella Watson as well when I say we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that." They began clapping and John and Arabella crossed the room to embrace him, his face showing his usual disinterest in human affection.

Carefully he eyed them and as they released him he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, just, one last thing before we all go about our Christmas festivities or lack there of." and carefully he raised his glass and looked at the two of them with a knowing Sherlock smile, "More importantly, however, this evening we were a small few that saw two people make vows. I’ve never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Arabella and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you." and immediately the entire room burst into applause as an explosion of confusion filled the happy faces of the newlyweds.

"Two! I mean two of you. Miscounted a moment. You all are welcome to stay and listen to music, dance if you wish." he said with a smile as everyone was chatting happily and the small radio was turned up a notch to play classic Christmas tunes. As everyone was distracted by the music and more champagne he turned to the serious stares of John and Arabella and laughed nervously, as if he could feel such an emotion.


	22. Chapter 22

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting to make any sort of deductions today but that last one simply bloomed in my mind a while ago and resurfaced." he said quickly and plainly.

"Say again?" Arabella demanded, blinking and gripping his bicep firmly.

"Waves of dizziness, change in taste perception from your very loved champagne to red wine you once despised, You'll recall you were... craving it. The tightness of your dress you blamed on wedding nerves and Mrs. Hudson's ability to lace a corset, however one look at the back of your dress reveals the lack of strain on the strings allowing them to show more of the modesty panel than I believe was shown when you purchased the gown. All the signs are there." he continued as if this was just another case. Arabella could barely bring herself to speak a word so she searched his eyes with hers, disbelief flooding the sapphire blue, her mouth turned down.

"I do believe you should perform a pregnancy test." he uttered so matter of fact John was nearly maddened by it. He bent over placing his hands on his knees and inhaled loudly as his world was suddenly spinning on its axis.

"It's not... I can't..." Arabella whispered with tears growing quickly and furiously in her eyes, her cheeks flushing and her hand involuntarily falling to her abdomen.

"Nothing is permanent Arabella, that you must know. There's a chance it did not fully take at the time. Not to mention the first trimester-"

"Shut up!" John suddenly exclaimed.

"You've also been glowing for some time and you've been avoiding the tube as it incites your rather new nausea, am I correct?" he continued before John said "Just... shut up.".

Sherlock mashed his lips together tightly and waited a moment.

"I'm a bloody, Doctor for Christ's sakes! How did you know before me!?" John exclaimed his cheeks reddening.

"Oh don't seem too surprised, the amount of copulating you two participate in is the equivalent of rabbits in early spring. I merely had my suspicions and did some research on the procedure through which our Arabella endured and using specific calculation I realized the particular method used at the time of her graduation was merely seventy-six percent effective and most operatives lives ended before they had a chance to even attempt what the two of you have found. Rather obvious, don't you think?" Sherlock said, speaking quickly and causing every cell in Ara's body to go on high alert. It explained a lot certainly but how could it be possible? For half a life time she had been sure it was completely impossible and yet here was the evidence, laid before her like a murder in need of solving. Only this was much better, it was the exact opposite exactly. But Arabella knew her limits, and as Mycroft had said to her time and time again, coincidences simply did not occur, the universe was rarely so lazy. 

"I need proof. Now." she said blankly and John looked at her laughing. At that moment it seemed everyone was ready to retire to their other holiday plans so they bid their goodbyes and Sherlock laid a box delicately on the kitchen counter and for a moment, the three of them stood their, John leaning on the counter, Arabella leaning her torso over it and Sherlock relaxed and his long arms resting across from her. 

"I should prefer we move this along. I do relish a bit with my correct deductions and I have a rather perfect accuracy score I'd like no longer in jeopardy." Sherlock stated looking petulant and impatient like a child. Arabella rolled her eyes and stated, "Fine!". She snatched the boy and strode into Sherlock's bedroom and then his bathroom. She untied her dress and put on a black robe she'd never seen Sherlock wear and then used the lou on the little stick. Moments later she returned where Sherlock and John remained and laid the test on the counter, the end with her urine capped up. And there they sat for the longest three minutes of their lives, Sherlock's hand twitching with the itch to pick up the test. He hated being wrong, not that he knew what the feeling was like. He'd never experienced it before. John's foot was tapping and his bow tie was undone as he had relived himself of his tux jacket.

"I've never been wound so tight in my life." John muttered, arms crossed over his chest eyeing the white stick on the counter. It felt as if in that moment all of their lives were just hanging in the balance. It was nearly comical considering all they'd been through and here and now their biggest fear was two pink lines. 

"Oh can we please put the dramatics to rest! It's probably done, there is no halfway answer here!" Sherlock exclaimed reaching his long pal fingers to the test. Like a shot Arabella's hand shot over the counter and tapped the back of his palm with a rigid and fierce look in her eyes.

"We aren't flipping the bloody thing over until that timer dings!" she said and as if on command it did. They all inhaled simultaneously and Ara reached for the future in the small kitchen of 221B. As if it were a serpent that had struck her she dropped it and her hand flew to her breasts as she backed away from the kitchen and flew from the front door to the frosty night air. John was equally as puzzled as his friend as he lifted the small pen like stick from the ground and saw the bright and unmistakable two pink lines looking back at him. He grinned wildly, shook his head and bounded over to Sherlock. He threw his arm about the man and then chased after his bright in a whir of happy tears and inexplicable joy.


	23. Chapter 23

Ara was thinking about how ironic life could be. Here she was betraying her now husband to eliminate the threat to their safety, to secure a future including a child, and miraculously she had ended up pregnant. Most importantly, she couldn't back out now. What would Magnussen try to do if he found out she was carrying a child? Now it would be more important than ever to eliminate him, not just put him behind bars. She ran her hand down the front of her dress and began swiping away at her tears. Then she laughed. A baby. In her womb she was carrying a baby, a living organism that would turn into a tiny person. A person she had created with the greatest man she had ever known, a little living piece of him. It moved her beyond words as she knew that this was the most pure example of true love. 

She heard the front door fly open and turned to see the very man of her thoughts descending the stoop stairs. He grabbed her waist and spun her in a circle, laughing and shedding tears of pure undiluted joy. Arabella had never seen John so happy. Grabbing her cheeks in his hands he pulled her in for a deep passionate kiss, pouring his heart and love into the press of his lips to hers. She gripped the lapels of his jacket and deepened it, ready to consummate their marriage right there on that snowy street. That was what John had done to her, shown her true and unconditional love, pure and perfect and heavenly. What could she not do so long as John Watson was so incredibly mad for her. 

When he pulled away he was absolutely glowing, his smile wide and genuine and she finally asked him, "You aren't frightened? Not even a bit?" she asked.

He tilted his head aside in that adorable way and looked confused before answering, "How could I be? This is a miracle. Our miracle. And I won't let you miss this moment by worrying and fretting. No." and he shook his head before holding her face again in his hands, "We are going to be happy. As we have been, as we've always been. And I, will be by your side forever." he said, causing tears to well again in her eyes before pulling him into her embrace and resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

Weeks later, the clinic was closed, the last patient gone in the last hour, and the door opened as Arabella entered the clinic where John had been waiting all day. The ultrasound machine had long since been pulled into his office, the lights were already off. He smiled proudly when she stepped inside of his office, slid the door closed behind her and was positively beaming. Grinning, he patted the crisp white paper pulled over the examination table. She smiled more widely and slid her coat off, hanging it on the butler by the door. She eased herself up and waited for him to power up the machine. As he slid on his gloves and squeezed the jelly onto the device, she sat up and stopped him for a moment.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I'm afraid. What if it isn't really there? What if it's just gas or something stupid? You'll be so-" she said suddenly getting teary eyed and finding herself frustrated with her sudden need to cry all the time these days. 

"Just stop. And look." he said, pointing to the screen and pressing the cold and stick device to her belly. In those next few seconds her heart pounded so hard she was afraid it could he heard down the next ten blocks. He wiggled the tip all around before settling on a little spot a small ways beneath her belly button. And there on that black and white screen was a little shape, small and nearly shapeless. And the little thumping wasn't Arabella's heartbeat, but the baby's. John found his mouth had gone slack, his eyes wide and his breath taken away. There it was, the little sign. The sign of three, with a little heartbeat to match. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen since the day he met his darling Ara.

"Sort of looks a bit like a... jelly bean." Ara said through tears of complete joy.

John look out a little laugh and looked into her eyes, "Our little jelly bean.".


End file.
